


Bullies

by brotherfuckers



Series: Striderclan [39]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bullying, Fights, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mama Bear Bro, Protective Striders, Protectiveness, Strife - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brotherfuckers/pseuds/brotherfuckers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave gets caught up by some thugs and comes home bloody. He tries to hide it, but Bro finds him. Bro goes out after some good old fashioned vengeance when the incident strikes close to some old memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bullies

His hands shake as he opened the door. He turns the knob slowly and opens it gently to keep from alerting the occupant within. He really doesn’t want to run into Bro. He’s sore as hell already and doesn’t want a second beating.

The room is mercifully dark with evening as he slips inside. Maybe he got lucky and Bro is out at well. The other two dorks are off gallivanting around somewhere in California. Possibly Europe. Maybe Japan.

The blood dripping onto his cupped hand under his chin breaks Dave from his musings. He sprints across the room, flinching as the door shuts behind him louder than he opened it. Stupid. Must be the ringing in his ears making him make small mistakes. But he’s safely to the bathroom without another sound and closes this door quietly before turning on the lights. He tries not to look at the bloody mess in the mirror. Of course it looks worse than it is. It had the entire trip from the store home to keep bleeding into his mouth and down his chin because he didn’t have anything on hand to mop it up. Looking down, groans as he sees a couple drops on his shirt. Now he’d have to do laundry too.

Grabbing a nearby towel and running the water, he starts to clean it up. The lip is nicely split and still oozing more of his precious red. The shiner starting around his eye is a nice red swelling to match the stained skin on his chin. At least they hadn’t knocked out any teeth. And it didn’t feel like any of his ribs were broken despite the harsh punches and kicks.

Damn.

The one day he goes out without his shades he has to run into people who have no sense of decency. The one time he decides to volunteer to go get groceries without anyone prompting him to or dragging him along. That’ll teach him. Good deeds never go unpunished.

He spits out another glob of too slick build-up in his mouth and absently watches the running water drag the red down the drain.

Fucking punks. It wasn’t like he was flashing cash at the store. He just used enough to pay for the handful of bags and kept the rest tucked away in his wallet. Apparently that was just enough blood in the water to attract the attention of some bad news. A small gang of ruffians had approached and solicited him once he exited the store and they politely requested that he donate to their delinquent cause. Not in those words, of course.

Dave responded that he was disinclined to acquiesce to their request. In those words, of course.

And it went downhill from there.

The bags had kept him from fleeing faster which meant that they were able to grab him and throw him up against the wall which of course put them in prime position to see his flawless skin, perfectly style blonde hair, pearly whites, delicate blonde eyelashes, and his ruby red eyes. Dave is tempted to buy and throw a thesaurus at their heads for how many times they called him a ‘fucking freak’; it just gets repetitive after a while.

They never did get the money. They got plenty of punches and kicks in but after the great reveal of his eyes, they kinda forgot about going after his wallet. Once they started, they just went at him. Dave’s glad it wasn’t worse. Five guys on one? Pretty scary shit for anyone not a Strider. But even as much as Bro trained Dave, it was a little much for an ambush attack with groceries weighing him down. It was a pitiful excuse of a fight. Not to say he didn’t get a couple good hits in and made at least three of the guys back down before evading the other two at the cost of the groceries.

But the bottom line is that he got his ass kicked and ran home with his tail between his legs and a bloody lip leaving a trail of drips because he couldn’t defend himself. He couldn’t do what Bro had been pushing him and Dirk to do since they could hold small plastic swords. He was a disgrace to the Strider name.

Which is why he is rushing to clean up the mess of his face before Bro comes home from wherever he might be. Hopefully some ice will get the swelling of his cheek down...

“Dave! Yo, brat! Why the lights off?”

Shit. Shitshitshit. He glances up in the mirror. Not all of the blood has been cleaned up and his face is swollen all over. Not a pretty look with eyes wide and panicked. He glances over at the shower thinking it could buy him some time-

“Brat, ya answer m-” Bro’s voice cuts off. Dave thinks about why. What did he leave out there? “Why are ya bleedin’?”

“Uh-” The bathroom door slams open and Dave catches Bro’s eyes in the mirror. “Shit.” Dave can almost smell the fire and brimstone ignite in Bro’s eyes as his brother takes him in. He cringes down against the harsh survey, still tempted to duck into the shower.

“What the fuck happened?”

* * *

“Stupid frickin’ morons,” Bro curses under his breath as he walks away from the post office, glowering at the shoddy landscaping around the nondescript building. They took so long with finding the damn boxes even though he had the numbers all ready for them and they were supposed to have been delivered a couple days ago, and their tracking numbers even say delivered, and he still doesn’t have one of them in hand. He growls at their incompetency as he walks away with three out of five boxes when he had gone in for four. “Idiotic jackasses. And they want the government to run the country, can’t even deliver the mail.”

He tosses the boxes into the back seat and then starts home in the rush hour traffic. Of course they had to stall him until all of the streets were filled with more idiots who didn’t know how to get out of his way. Or to drive straight down the street.

After several near misses and a couple blarings of his horn, Bro finally makes it back to the apartment without a scrape on his car. He juggles the boxes in his arms and makes his way up the stairs. A bit more juggling and he gets into the dark apartment, noting that Dave must have left the door unlocked.

“Dave! Yo, brat! Why the lights off?” Bro sets his packages on the table. He hears the running water in the bathroom but no answer. Even if Dave was in the shower, he’d still be able to hear Bro’s bellowing. Bro stalks over to the wall and flips on the lights.

“Brat! Ya answer m-” A drop of dark on the floor catches his eye. There’s a second one farther on, slid forward towards the bathroom, and a third just before the threshold. “Why are ya bleedin’?”

There is a pause before an answer that has Bro charging at the bathroom door. It slams open and he catches Dave’s deer-in-the-headlights look.

“Shit.”

He takes in the obvious injuries. The swelling cheek, the split lip. Bro’s gut drops as he’s taken back to a poorly lit, sickly green locker room seeing his brother in a similar state. He can almost smell the poor mixture of sweat, deodorant, and cologne. He feels a familiar rage building up inside of him. A craving to tear whatever hurt his family into a thousand painful pieces with his bare hands.

“What the fuck happened?”

“I’m sorry, Bro. I- I didn’t mean to. I mean, it wasn’t my fault but it shouldn’t have happened. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even let them get that close. I should have worn my shades. I don’t even know why I was out. It’s not like I was even hungry and we have food here and-”

“D- Dave, breathe.” Bro focuses on how badly Dave is shaking and how tightly he is gripping the washcloth. “Just breathe for a moment and then tell me what happened.”

Dave’s shoulders lift and drop as he does what he is told. He turns slowly around to face Bro instead of through the mirror. Bro tries not to think about the similarities between Dave and his older brother. It wouldn’t be helpful right now.

“Now, start at the beginning.”

“Went out to the grocery store. Saw that we needed some stuff. And then when I was heading out, this group of guys kinda stopped me and I kinda made fun of them. Worst time ever to quote a movie. Been talking to Egbert too much and listening to Dirk’s skypes with English. It’s a wonder I don’t talk like the dorks-”

“Dave.”

“Right, right. So yea, I kinda showed them up via brains and they took offense to that and by offense I mean they slammed me up against the nearest wall but not in the same way that you do which is kinda good because that would have been weird. They were too close up in my personal business anyways and kinda saw my eyes and proceeded to call me an aberration, anomaly, mutant, weirdo, odd, special, queer but not in the gay way, quirky, eccentric, strange, bizarre. Okay they probably don’t even know like more than two of those words and never deviated from freak but I knew what they were trying to say. I can read the lines between their words and their fists. I mean, it’s all kinda cliche and shit. They are bullies so they bull-”

“Dave.” Dave flinches down from the reproach, biting his lip nervously before he realizes that it still hurts and that the motion just brought more blood to the surface. “Shit.” Bro grabs the washcloth and presses it to the injury before the fresh blood can run off his chin, hiding it from looking like the time before. “Shit fuck!”

“Bro, Bro, I’m okay. I’m sorry. I should have been more careful. And I should have been able to fight them off. They just caught me off guard and despite how many times you warn me never to be caught off guard I basically face planted into the rookie mistake. I’m a stupid noob. I’m sorry, Bro.”

Bro just wants to cry at how Dave’s reacting, but he can’t even get the words out of his closed off throat to tell him why he’s so upset.

“I’m sorry I dropped the groceries too. I’ll pay you back later since I used the family cash. No they didn’t get that. Too busy trying to beat the demon out of my eyes apparently.”

“Shut up.”

Dave goes quiet. He looks off to the side as much as he can with Bro holding the towel to his face. Bro fights with himself to get control over the tumultuous wave of emotions boiling through him. They hurt his little brother. They hurt his brother over the color of his eyes, over a couple groceries and all Dave can worry about is paying him back for them.

“Sorry, Bro.”

“I said shut up,” his voice is a low growl. “Just shut up and stop sayin’ that. Nothin’ to be sorry for, Dave. I’ma kill those fuckers. I’ma-” his voice cuts off again. Dave notices how much Bro’s hand is shaking through the cloth.

“Bro?” Dave reaches up and pulls Bro’s hand away. Bro stares down at the bloody lip. He hadn’t been there this time. He didn’t get there in time to help his brother this time. He had gotten lucky in high school. He had been able to help his older brother out, but this time, he wasn’t there for his little brother, the one he was supposed to be guardian of. He wasn’t there for Dave.

“‘m sorry, Dave.”

“What? What are you sorry for? You weren’t the one punchin’ me and kickin’ me and I am pretty damn sure you didn’t send those fuckers... right?”

“Fuck no.”

“Then you got nothin’ to be sorry for, Bro.”

Bro pulls him into a hug, not caring that his lip is bleeding all over his white shirt. Feeling his brother safe makes up for it. He feels safe, he looks safe, even if a little banged up. But then, D looked alright too, and then...

“They didn’t try anythin’ did they? I mean, like, nothin’ else to ya, right?”

“Um...”

Bro pulls him away sharply and stares down at him, paranoid now that the injuries match. “Did they? Did they try to make you do anything? Did they try to-”

“No,” Dave hurriedly reassures when he figures out what Bro is implying. “No. They didn’t do that. Just beat me up. And honestly I’m pretty sure you’ve beat my ass worse.” He feels Bro flinch away from the accusation. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that, but seriously I think one of them might have busted his hand up worse than my lip, throwin’ that punch like a toddler. And you’re always complainin’ that I have such a hard head.”

“Shut up, Dave,” Bro tells him again but much softer. “And dun worry ‘bout the groceries. I don’t give a shit. What I do give a shit ‘bout is if you’re alright.”

“I’m fine.”

“We’ll see. Shirt off. Let’s see if they broke anything and then get you some ice and the first aid kit.” Bro runs his hands over his chest, frowning each time he presses down on a bruise but Dave only gasps at the pain instead of crying out if they had been broken. He then leads Dave out of the bathroom and directs him to the futon while he goes and gets what he needs to take care of his little bro.

“So, who were they?”

“Buncha thugs? I don’t know if I’ve seen them before. Maybe. Might be the guys that usually hang out but the pharmacy, but Dirk and I have never had trouble with ‘em before.”

Bro doesn’t answer, he just goes about getting Dave cleaned up with a butterfly bandage on his lip and ice packs on his cheek and the worst of his bruises on his ribs. He gets Dave a tall glass of apple juice as he plots murder. If the punks were smart they would have bolted as soon as Dave had gotten away but from Dave’s recount, they are probably as dumb as turnips. The chances of them still being at the grocery store are high. Hal probably could give him an official number somewhere in the eternal stoner range. He drops a bundle of blankets on top of Dave and wraps him up, making sure that he’s comfortable. Dave watches him carefully, unsure about the princely treatment he is getting and wondering where it is stemming from. Not that Bro nor D would ever tell them about their high school incidents. Never really seemed relevant until now and who needs to bring up those bad memories anyways.

As soon as he is sure that Dave is appropriately swaddled up on the couch, Bro drops a kiss onto his forehead before reaching over and grabbing his sword.

“Bro... Bro, what are you doing?” Dave asks nervously.

“Takin’ care of some trash. Dun worry your pretty li’l head o’er it.”

Dave tries to get up, but winces as his muscles complain. “Bro, you can’t just go kill random people; you don’t even know who you’re looking for and it was my bad, okay? I shouldn’t have-”

“Shut up.” That harsh growly edge is back in Bro’s voice as he cut Dave off from blaming himself again.

Dave shivers as Bro slides on his shades. He swallows hard and tries again, pleading softly, “Don’t end up in jail. I still need you here.”

"Dun worry, li'l man," Bro tells him as he opens the door. "They'll never find the bodies."

He catches a flurry of movement as Dave lunges for the nearest phone when he closes the door. Then he turns and heads for the grocery store.

* * *

TG: not allowed  
TT: You didn't see him, D.  
TG: still not allowed  
TT: He looked like you in highschool after  
TG: shit  
TG: no wonder you are so worked up  
TG: but still not allowed  
TT: I can't leave them naked and crying in the back alley with their clothes all torn up?  
TG: ...  
TG: give em hell

* * *

Of course he is correct about where they are. Stupid never gets very far. They’ve managed to move their posse just around the corner of the building into the shadows where the ends of their cigarettes count five of them.

He strolls casually up to them, sword sheathed still and pretty much hidden against his dark jeans in the gloom of late evening.

“Howdy fellas.”

“Aw fuck off old man.”

“We’re allowed to be here.”

“We know the manager and shit.”

“Could I bum a cigarette off of ya?”

“No. Get outta here.” One of them waves him off. He notices the split knuckles on the back of his hand. Another winces as he tries to sneer through a busted nose. Bro keeps the pride off his face easily as he balances it with the rage that’s been honed to a tempered razor of white hot heat.

“You don’t wanna go lookin’ for trouble, freak.”

“But trouble is exactly what I am lookin’ for.”

“What? You want a trip to the hospital, faggot?”

There is a hiss of steel and suddenly there is only half a cigarette in the speaker’s hand.

“What the fuck? Are ya a freak or sumpthin’?”

“Just like that kid earlier.”

“Ya mean my li’l bro?”

“Must run in the family. Let’s see if we can’t knock out two freaks today.” He’s barely even dropped his cigarette to crush under his shoe when Bro flashes forward with a quick punch to the stomach. They all turn and look as Bro reappears behind them.

“What the fuck?” Another one tries to lash out in an attack but Bro just casually knocks his hand away and follows up with a couple quick body jabs. A third tries to attack from behind but Bro catches his hand and squeezes down on his fist, almost feeling the skin tear even further across his knuckles. Another wild swing doesn’t connect and then Bro is pulling on the arm to knock him off balance, following up with an elbow down onto his shoulder. The fifth tries to step in but hesitates when he hears the same strange sound again and suddenly there is a long clean tear across the front of his shirt. He stumbles back but Bro follows up with a crunching hit to his nose with the hilt of the katana.

The sound does wonders for appeasing the cold anger burning inside of Bro.

The first guy has recovered enough to go again but the low tackle is easily side stepped and there is a similar tear across his back as he runs into the guy holding his broken bleeding nose. Moron number two gets closer on his next shot but goes down when Bro stomps on his instep and slices into his shirt as well. He gasps as he feels the whisper of the sword tip cross his skin. Three decides to try his luck with the other hand and Bro just ducks and neatly slices the inside of his sleeve and down the body of the shirt. The fourth doesn’t pick up on anything and gets a similar treatment.

He gets a third round of satisfying injuries including at least two black eyes, a possibly broken wrist, a barrage of bruises, a dislocated shoulder, several head wounds from contact with the ground or nearby wall, and a groin shot that his descendents will be feeling for generations. Their shirts didn’t fair too well either and lay in tatters around the alley. Pained groans echo softly from where they lay on the ground or lean up against the wall.

“Who. Touched. My baby bro. First?” Bro grounds out as he surveys all of them. All of them look away but do nothing incriminating. “I see. You need some... motivation.”

The katana gleams wickedly from the parking lot lights. He casually swings it at the one closest to his feet and there is a long gash in the jeans along his thigh. He doesn’t get any more answers as he steps forward and takes another swipe through the air making a twin on another guy’s leg, slightly farther up. He gets to the one slumped down at the base of the wall and leans in.

“Was it you?” The guy frantically shakes his head. Bro flicks the blade down and slices across his hips, the tip catching slightly on the zipper. “You sure?”

“Fuckfuckfuck. It wasn’t me. Fuckfuckfuck.”

Bro lets him do with a push against his forehead, enjoying the crack of it against the wall.

“Still waitin’ for an answer, ya fucks. We ain’t gettin’ outta here ‘til we get this cleared up, sonnies.” He turns to the next one against the wall. “Now, my sword’s about to get pretty personal with your dangly bits,” Bro rubs it up against his crotch to emphasize his words, “if I dun get a straight answer fuckin’ soon. I don’t know if you really wanna be a eunuch.” Bro leans in close to his ear, “WHO DECIDED TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF MY LI’L BRO?” Bro bellows.

Instantly the guys arm shoots up and points at the fifth guy who looks like he’s planning on slinking away. He doesn’t get more than a step before Bro has grabbed him by the neck and slammed him back against the wall. Instinctively the guy’s hands come up to claw at Bro’s arm and Bro notes that this is the one with the split knuckles.

“Couldn’t even fuckin’ punch him properly, asswipe. Ya wouldn’t stand a chance against him one on one and ya barely managed to even with five of y’all. I’ll let you in a secret. There’s four of us in the family. You’re just lucky the other two ain’t in the country right now otherwise they’d take a turn at your asses too. No one touches my family.”

He struggles against Bro’s hold as Bro flicks the sword up the far leg all the way to and through the waistband. He’s halfway through doing the same to the near when he hears the kid trying to say something.

“What was that? Gotta speak up.”

He squeaks when Bro squeezes on his throat before letting up enough for him to get words out.

“The fuckin’ freak was practically beggin’ for it.” Bro hears similar words echoing in a old school cafeteria. “Askin’ to get his ass beat, lettin’ a li’l freak like that walk ‘round pretendin’ to be normal.” The guy’s words snap Bro back to the present. His lips curl up into a snarl.

“That ‘li’l freak’s words are the only reason you are still breathin’ right now.”

The swords comes up level with the guy’s face. Bro feels him swallow behind his leather glove. With a steady hand, the tip drags over the exposed forehead, causing him to twitch and jag the red line left behind.

“Keep still and I may not gouge out both of your eyes.”

He looks like he is about the pass out with how white he is but that really wouldn’t stop Bro. He’d get the injury one way or another. Bro would prefer that he stays awake for the pain. He finishes the first line arcing across the forehead and starts on the second arcing opposite to the first. Two quick lines at the center between the first and Bro has finished drawing a rudimentary eye on the surface of his skin even before the first drop of blood has reached his eyebrows.

“Now you’re a freak with a red eye too. Better not catch you out and about or someone might think you’re askin’ to get a beatdown.” Bro flicks the swords down and away cutting the rest of his jeans which fall to a puddle around his ankles. He finally releases him to let the mostly naked thug collapse alongside his pants and turns away. He looks around at the rest of the group. “Anyone else want somethin’ to ‘member me by?”

There are no answers besides silent terrified stares. The angry dragon of vengeance seems to be sated. Bro leaves them to their misery with a final hiss of his sword being sheathed and then walks home.

* * *

He returns home to the sound of voices filling the apartment. A quick survey finds D and Dirk’s worried faces blown up on the main flat screen. Bro muses that Hal must have set up a webcam between the international Striders and the li’l man left at home.

“Bro!” they all cry out as he comes into view.

“Is that blood on your shirt?” Dirk frantically asks.

“Are you okay?” Dave questions.

“You didn’t actually kill anyone right?” D levels at him.

“It’s Dave’s from where he slobbered all over me. I’m fine. And...” Bro pauses as he puts up his sword and falls onto the couch, simultaneously nearly crushing Dave and scooping him up close, “I didn’t kill them. Bloodied and bruised and none of their clothes can be worn again, but no bodies.”

All three Striders visibly relax.

“So y’all be talkin’ Davey through his trauma and givin’ him the counselin’ his poor battered ego needs, right?”

Dave rolls his eyes at his brother even as he leans in for a kiss.

“Yea, Bro. Dave will be fine.”

“Both of you will be fine.”

Bro has to agree with their statement as they snuggle down into the futon and mound of blankets and listen to the travellers tell tales of their exploits. And if every so often Bro’s attention drifts and he finds himself having to hug Dave a little closer, no one mentions it.

**Author's Note:**

> For more information please check out our work at striderclan.tumblr.com; we have more stories, head canons, art/pictures.


End file.
